


Psionics Play

by mtjester



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Movie Theater Sex, Psionics Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtjester/pseuds/mtjester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hate-dating a psionic is ill-advised at best, but if you’ve learned anything from your collection of romcoms and romance novels, it’s that you should always listen to your pump biscuit concerning quadrant affairs.  Your kismesissitude is infuriating at times, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You just need to be on your toes so he doesn’t get the one-up on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psionics Play

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this fanart by Syb la Tortue](http://syblatortue.tumblr.com/post/97040679796/i-found-this-kink-meme-prompt-very-inspiring) (even though the couple in the original fanart is actually solkri)

Hate-dating a psionic is ill-advised at best, but if you’ve learned anything from your collection of romcoms and romance novels, it’s that you should always listen to your pump biscuit concerning quadrant affairs.  Your kismesissitude is infuriating at times, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. You just need to be on your toes so he doesn’t get the one-up on you.

That said, you probably shouldn’t have asked him to go to the movies with you.  He doesn’t even like romcoms.  But apparently no one else does either, and he was your last resort.  And for some reason, he agreed, on the condition that you went to the theater of his choice. That condition should have raised a red flag for you, but you’re evidently not as prudent as you think you are about your kismesissitude, because it doesn’t.  You figure he wants to stay close to home.  You’re just happy you don’t have to go alone.

He arrives on time outside your lawnring to escort you into the city.  You could have found the destination yourself, but you don’t like to travel without a friend.  You get too many questions about the color of your sign.  You assumed the grey would be an obvious indicator that you don’t care to broadcast your blood cast, but the world is full of idiots. When you see him outside, you placate your lusus long enough to slip out the door.

“Hey, KK,” Sollux says, flashing his duel pair of fangs at you.  He’s wearing a black and white button-up with his sign neatly embroidered onto the breast pocket.  You raise an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know we were going to make this a dress-up occasion,” you say.

“You’re the one who asked me on the date, asslick.”

“You didn’t even want to come, so don’t even fucking start with me.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

And he is here now, which is worth enough to shut you up.  You eye his outfit for a second and ask, “Do you want me to go change? How much of a date are we making this, if this is now an official hate-date?”

“Fuck, KK, I knew you would find something to flip your shit about tonight, but I didn’t think it’d be this early.”

“My shit is not even beginning to get flipped, you pile of diseased hoofbeast droppings, but if—“

“We’re going to be late to your stupid wiggler romance flick if you keep flipping your shit about how much your shit is not getting flipped right now.”  He grins as your words fumble to a stop, and you glare at him, fighting down your impulse to finish your insult.

“Fine,” you finally say with a snap. His grin widens as you cross your arms.

“Okay, let’s go.” Without warning, you both lift off the ground and shoot into the air at an alarming speed.  You release a yelp and claw the air for something solid to grab onto.  You can hear him laugh.

“Sollux, you festering sack of bile vomited straight from the Mother Grub’s disgusting bulbous egg sack, I swear to every imagined fucking god that if you don’t put me the fuck down on solid ground within the next ten seconds, I will rip you a new nook with one of your own fucking horns!” you screech.  You don’t like traveling like this, and he knows it. He said he was going to _walk_ you to the theater. He said it wasn’t that fucking far away, the lying fuck.

“Don’t you want to make your movie, KK?  Maybe if you didn’t waste so much of your life screaming about stupid shit, I wouldn’t have to haul your ass through the air!”

You can’t even form words anymore.  You just screech. You screech all the way to the city, and you continue to screech as he guides you between communal hive stems. People are looking. You hope that he’s beginning to feel self-conscious.  But no, when he sets you down in front of the seediest, most run-down husk of a theater you could possibly imagine, he has the cockiest smirk on his face. The few trolls around nudge each other and whisper things into each other’s hear ducts.  You’re beginning to realize that you’ve committed the black equivalent of public affection, and the only thing you could do to embarrass yourself further is punch him and make out.  You scowl at him, and he throws an arm over your shoulders.  His smirk widens as he gestures to the theater.

“Here we are. We’d better get seats before it fills up.”  He snickers.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No joke, KK. I love this place. It’s got the _best_ seats.”  You sense an ulterior motive in his tone, but you have no idea what it might mean. You don’t have time to ask before he’s steering you up to the ticket booth.  The troll in the booth is so startled to find customers approaching that she almost falls out of her seat.  Sollux buys the tickets with such a wicked grin that you’re beginning to think he brought you to a porn house, but the showing is for the movie you want to see.  He leads you inside, handing you your ticket and letting his arm fall off your shoulder.

“What the hell are you up to?” you ask, looking around the filthy lobby with your nose scrunched up with distaste. Nobody would pick this place above literally any other theater on Alternia.

“Jeez, would you give it a rest for a second?  I’m just escorting you on a normal hate-date.”

“Is that why you paraded me through the entire goddamn city on the way to the worst excuse for a theater in the entire troll empire?”

“Yeah,” he says with another snicker.

“Just fuck me up the meat tunnel, I _knew_ you were up to something when you arrived in that hideous fucking outfit,” you say, seething. “I should have asked someone else to come with me.  Eridan or Equius or even fucking _Vriska_ would have made a better movie partner than you, nooksniffer.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Sollux says, and the smirk finally falls off his face.  “I’m a better movie partner than all those assholes combined and you know it.”

“Oh yeah?  Eridan actually cries with me at the sad parts. You know, those parts where I might find you laughing soundlessly behind your fucking hand?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing at the end of the night, bulgegrope.”

“Is that a fucking challenge? Are we making this movie date into some sort of profane competition that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever?”

“What if it is?”

“Okay, fine! You’ve got yourself a challenger,” you say, and without another word, you stomp into the theater. It’s completely empty. There’s not another living creature in the place, except for perhaps the squeakbeasts that are no doubt scurrying underneath the tattered chairs.  The only lights are along the stairs on the outside of the theater. You head up towards the middle rows, but as you’re about to turn down an aisle, Sollux walks into you and pushes you up to the last row.

“Oops,” he says with a grin as he herds you down the aisle.  You’re about ready to spew some choice obscenities at him, but the previews start and he plops down in a chair.  At least he let you stay near the center of the theater.  You swallow your insults and drop into the seat next to him, shifting to get as comfortable as you can.

The previews pass without a problem, and your irritation begins to recede as the movie finally starts up.  You glance at Sollux. He still has that cocky, almost playful smirk on his face, as though he’s actually enjoying himself for once in his life.  You’re suspicious, but you return your attention back to the screen and allow yourself to calm down. Even with the rip running along the bottom of the screen, you become engrossed in the movie. It’s not the best you’ve seen, but you like almost anything that involves the struggle of filling quadrants, even if it’s shit.

About halfway through the movie, two of the trolls land themselves in a rather steamy situation that they shouldn’t be in, and you’re so invested that you’re leaning forward in your seat, eyes glued to the screen.  You barely notice the tingle run up your back, but the second time, it sits at the top of your head, ringing the base of your horns. You reach up to scratch at your hair, but the tingle grows stronger, turning into a spark that sends quivers of energy through your horns.  You freeze.  Whatever the sensation is, it’s beginning to press against the base of your horns, almost as though it were an actual entity.  It’s...messaging them?  You press your lips together as a shiver travels down body. You’re suddenly feeling much warmer than you did before, and your breath isn’t coming as easily.

You lean back in your chair and reach up to touch your horns.  You can feel the energy send tiny shocks of electricity into your fingers. It’s not painful...it’s actually rather stimulating.  The pressure continues to grow, and you shift in your seat.  You’re not uncomfortable, exactly, but...your whole body is beginning to feel hypersensitive, and shivers are shooting straight from the base of your horns to your groin.  You squirm, overcome by the sudden and unwholesome urge to touch yourself.

“What’s up, KK? The movie’s not that good,” Sollux says.  You glance at him. A wicked curl has formed at the corner of his shit-eating smirk, and in the darkness, a thin line of color dances around his silhouette.

“Oh, you fuck—“ you begin, but a fragment of the electric energy toying with your horns pulls away and dances down your torso, running over the sensitive skin of your pupation scars, and you bite down on your tongue.  Another solid mass of energy climbs up your inner thighs and rests just beyond the edge of your groin, where the tiny pulses of static just barely reach the places you’re now fighting yourself not to touch. The pressure on your horns increases and moves, twisting around the base in a way that almost makes you gasp.

You suddenly realize why Sollux brought you to this particular, completely empty theater. What a conniving douchebag. You could press your legs together and ride out your arousal, but...fuck it, why the hell would you do that? Sometimes, stubbornness isn’t worth it.

You grip the armrests of your seat and let your knees fall apart.  You want to undo your pants and free yourself from the constricting fabric, but you’re not so vulgar or desperate that’d you expose yourself in public, even though you’re sure a hundred other trolls have done worse in this shitty theater.  You hear Sollux snicker before the energy on your legs moves the short distance to your nook. You try to stifle the noise that leaves your throat as the energy envelops your bulge, sending electrifying pulses up through your body.  You press back in the seat to steady yourself and keep some semblance of control. But who the hell are you kidding? Sollux can stimulate any part of you he pleases without taking off a stitch of your clothes, and you can feel him wrapping you in the tingling energy of his psionics.  It nips at your neck and nipples, runs up and down your sides, presses against your lips.  It’s ringing around your horns until you feel yourself going lightheaded.  Your concentration on everything around you falls away.  You can hardly pay attention to what’s happening in the movie. The grip on your bulge gradually tightens, and below it, the energy rubs over the sensitive entrance to your nook, slowly, carefully, sending those tiny streaks of intoxicating energy straight up into you.

You whine as the energy on your bulge begins to move.  It curls over the slick surface, following its movements, even though it’s restricted by your pants.  You can barely breathe without making some sort of noise, and you squirm in your chair. The sensations pulsing through you feel so good.  You twitch as Sollux leans over and drags his fangs across your neck.  He reaches down and undoes your pants.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, pulling your sweater down over your bulge as it makes a break for freedom. He snickers, but as the cool air washes over the sensitive flesh, you forget what else you were planning to say.

“There’s no one else here,” he says, swatting your hand away and pushing your sweater up to expose your abdomen.  The red and blue of his psionics glimmer dimly against the red surface of your bulge. The energy twists around it, curling and dancing with its movements, and the pressure begins to increase. You almost feel like you’re inside of someone, but the cool air breaks the illusion.

“Sollux,” you breathe, and as if to respond, the force pressing against the entrance of your nook pushes inside, filling you up and out until you can’t even think.  The energy inside of you shifts with the writhing of your bulge, as though to translate your own movements into yourself. Your thrust, and the energy inside you thrusts into you.  You gasp. “Fuck, _fuck_...Sol...”

“Heh, that’s pretty good, isn’t it?” he says, and you just now realize how close he is. One of his hands are on your chest, the other is in your hair, rubbing your horn, and his tongue is on your neck. You can’t keep still. You thrust again into the energy surrounding your bulge, and the energy thrusts back into you, fucking you as you fuck it.  You imagine Sollux ramming you as he rides you, two Solluxes for the price of one sending you to the ends of your mind with ecstasy, and you can hardly take it.

“Fuck, Sollux, we—we have to go,” you say with a whimper.  “To your hive.”

“Nope,” he says, nipping at your throat.  The pressure increases on your bulge and shifts inside of you, blinding you for a moment. His thumb slides over your nipple.

“I can’t—my genetic material—“ you say.  You don’t know how you can remember to be concerned, but the bright red of your bulge might be your reminder.  You can’t walk out of the theater with your pants stained candy red.  As if he had read your mind, Sollux’s psionics yank your pants off, leaving you ass naked on the chair.

“You know they don’t turn the lights on in here,” he whispers into your hear duct.  Any complains you have are lost in your throat as he doubles his ministrations, peppering your whole body in tiny pulses of electricity, exploiting every erogenous zone he knows you have and finding a couple more on top of that.  His energy thrusts into your nook and down onto your bulge, moving in ways you know no body would ever be able to replicate, and you groan, losing control of your hips. A moan escapes you as you thrust whichever way feels most right, and the energy accommodates you any way you move.  The force inside you has found every part of you it can possibly stimulate, fondling your shame globes, pressing against the entrance of your seedflap.

“Sollux— _Sol_ , I—“ you say, your eyes growing moist. You’re so close. Goddamn, you’re so close, so _tight_ , so overwhelmed, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this good.

“Hold on,” he says. His voice is low and husky, and before you know what’s happening, you’re spinning in your chair and he’s climbing onto the armrest, as pantless as you are.  He leans over you, steadying himself with one arm on the opposite armrest, and pulls you up by the knee until your upper body is on the bottom of the chair and your legs are in the air straddling his hips. His twin bulges are fully exposed and distended, and they lap at your bare skin.  You arch your back as one bulge encircles your own and the other slides into your nook, joining the energy that’s still overwhelming your insides.  Sollux’s psionics hold you up as he thrusts into you, quick, sharp, and needy, and his hand pushes your sweater all the way down to your armpits.  You barely notice a line of genetic material running down your back.  The world is falling away with each thrust, until you’re nothing but the feeling of electricity on your horns, your hips, your nipples, bulge, and nook, until the pressure of Sollux’s bulge snaked around yours is lost into the feeling of someone thrusting down onto you created by Sollux’s psionics, until Sollux’s bulge inside you feels like it could send you into another existence made entirely of bliss.  You feel the ecstasy building inside you, but right before you tip over the edge, Sollux psionics cuts you off in all the right places, keeping you right at the cusp of your orgasm.

“You fuck—!” you gasp, and he lets out a short, breathy laugh.  He pounds into you, and you’re going to explode.  You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this much. You pant, open-mouthed, as you inch closer, closer and closer, as Sollux lets up bit by bit to tease you until you can hardly remember your own name, and all at once, he lets go. You don’t know what sort of sound you make as he thrusts once, twice more, and you release, squeezing your eyes shut as the sensation bursts through you.  Your body twitches as you ride the orgasm, longer and stronger than any you’d ever experienced before.  You pant.  The world slowly comes back into focus.  Above the sound of the movie reaching its end, you can hear Sollux breathing.

“What the fuck,” you say, but without energy.  You feel so hazy.  Tired, like you’d just been running from a rabid barkbeast.  You hear Sollux laugh.

“That was a good movie, huh, KK?” he says.

“Fuck you,” you say. “I didn’t get to see any of it.”

You push yourself out of the bottom of the seat.  Your back is sticky with genetic material, and you wrinkle your nose with disgust. Before your sweater can slide down into the mess, Sollux’s psionics lift it up.

“Tissue?” he offers. You glance up at him. He’s pulled an entire wad of tissues out of his pants, which are thrown over the seat in front of him alongside yours.

“You were planning this the whole time, weren’t you?” you ask, swiping the tissues from him. He just snickers and stands up to clean himself off.


End file.
